


never did run smooth

by sarcasticfishes



Series: a picture worth a thousand words [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Midsummer Night's Dream, Pining, Rimming, Shakespeare Dorks in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t get me wrong, I know there are more important parts to the play. But that kiss means a lot to some of the fans. It has to be right, Derek.”</p><p>“No, yeah, that’s why-” Derek bit his tongue and nodded in agreement, “I want it to be right.</p><p>“Kiss me now,” Stiles said, “You won’t be so nervous during the rehearsal. I won’t be so nervous during the rehearsal.”</p><p>“Okay,” Derek said</p><p>-or-</p><p>The theatre!AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never did run smooth

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this prompt](https://31.media.tumblr.com/8db2e9baf7738fa57ec5e373c0362098/tumblr_inline_nem2dwe92U1radf31.jpg) for the photo challenge. I went a little overboard, as you can tell. This was just supposed to be 1'000 words but I overshot by about 7.8k. Could have written SO much more for this universe but honestly, just wanted to get it finished.
> 
> Kudos to [Laz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst) for the rad beta and putting up with my whining about this. <3 Any remaining mistakes are my fault.
> 
> EDIT: There were some formatting problems with this, but hopefully they've all been resolved. let me know if you come across any strange spacing (except for the texting scene, that is).

Chris had made kissing Stiles sound awkward and look easy. Stiles had often made it sound like it was his favourite part of the play, Chris sweeping him off his feet and into an embrace. It never failed to elicit a gasp from the audience. 

It was only in the past couple of months since Stiles had joined TellTales that the group had become wildly popular. Stiles was quite the actor, and Derek didn't think that playing Puck was much of a stretch for him. Derek had noticed that Chris and Stiles were considered favourites by the followers of the theatre group, who loved to see them together on and off stage, analysed their interaction down to the merest glances, and watched them like hawks.

Which was why there was obvious disappointment when Chris announced he would be leaving the cast. 

“I mean it Derek, you could do it,” Chris said, eyeing Derek over his beer, “We need some fresh meat in the group. And I've seen what you can do. You were a great understudy.”

Derek pursed his lips, “ Some big shoes to fill.”

“Hey, you like Stiles right?” 

“He's a good guy,” Derek shrugged, because yeah, he liked Stiles.

“And he's a great actor. He’ll make it easier on you if you're finding it hard.”

Derek nodded and took a long drink of his beer. He somehow didn't doubt that Stiles liked to lend a hand when things got hard

•

“There's my king,” Stiles said cheerfully, weaving his way through the dressing room to where Derek was dropping his backpack. Today was just a run through, no costumes or anything; a few cast members besides Chris had decided to retire from the group, and Julia wanted to see the play in its entirety with the new cast.

Stiles, as he reached Derek, flung his arms around the older man's shoulders.

“Excited?” he grinned, biting down on the corner of his lip. It was devastating, truly. 

“You could say that,” Derek smiled, as he tore his gaze away. “Anticipation, I guess.” 

Stiles looked around them at the empty room, and quickly closed the door so that they were alone.

“Is it about something else, or is it about kissing me?”

“Uh-” Derek breathed. 

“Don't get me wrong, I know there are more important parts to the play. But that kiss means a lot to some of the fans. It has to be right, Derek.” 

“No, yeah, that's why-” Derek bit his tongue and nodded in agreement, “I want it to be right." 

“Kiss me now,” Stiles said, “You won't be so nervous during the rehearsal. I won't be so nervous during the rehearsal.”

“Okay,” Derek said, easily – too easily. 

“Kiss me.”

“Now?”

“Right now, big guy,” Stiles put his hands on Derek's chest. Though they were much the same height, Stiles was more slender and lithe, and bowed into Derek's body, pulling him in as he leaned back against the door. “Delight me.”

Derek huffed out a laugh, before going for it, no tender, lingering kisses, taking Stiles by surprise the way he would if they were on stage, if he were Oberon and Stiles were Puck right now. Stiles made a pleased noise into Derek's mouth, smiling against his lips before delving in too. Derek curled an arm around his waist and lifted, just to prove he could, and Stiles made a noise like a shriek and a laugh, curling an arm around Derek's shoulder and holding on for dear life.

When they finally broke apart, Derek stumbled back, and Stiles laughed with joy.

“Oh man,” he breathed, “Do that on stage and we will have no problems." 

Derek thought, maybe that was the problem.

•

Julia Baccari, their new director, was taking over from the reign of Bobby Finstock, who had always tried to downplay the way Chris and Stiles had interacted, naturally bouncing off one another. But Julia seemed enthusiastic about Derek and Stiles, and encouraged them, almost more than Derek could take. 

As it turned out, the chemistry on stage between all the new cast members was astounding, not least between Derek and Stiles (and no one was surprised). It was only heightened when costume rehearsals came around, and Derek swore there was nothing worse on the earth than seeing Stiles skipping around all day in green and gold glitter and feathers. Nothing worse maybe, except going home at night, showering, and finding just how much glitter had rubbed off of Stiles and onto him.

“Herpes,” Stiles shrugged, “You know. Once you get it, you can't get rid of it.”

Derek wanted to pin him down and watch him shimmer in the lowlight of his bedroom.

•

Stiles came in to the rehearsal room half-asleep most mornings, curling up on the couch with a coffee and his lines. Some mornings he'd pull Derek down with him, and they'd bounce lines off of one another, and just cuddle, deep in thought. Other mornings, Stiles spoke to no one, looked upset, and left to go home as quickly as he could. Those were days when his kisses felt lacklustre and his lines fell flat.

It was on one of these days that Derek decided to get to the bottom of it.

“Wanna talk?” he whispered, crouching down next to Stiles at the couch, Stiles had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up around his face, tired eyes, lips pulled into a frown that Derek wanted to kiss away (and he knew Stiles would let him).

“Don't know if I can,” Stiles said, quietly. He looked around him, as if checking they were alone, “Don't know if it's my place to tell.”

Derek got up to close the door behind the last person leaving (Lydia, their wonderful makeup artist), and twisted the lock to ensure some privacy. He sank down to lay next to Stiles on the couch.

“Something's really bugging you, I can tell.” 

Stiles bit down on his lip, so hard Derek thought he might break the skin, and then screwed his eyes closed. 

“You know how I live with Allison?” 

“Yeah,” Derek breathed, nodding. Allison was Chris' daughter, a friend of Stiles’, Derek's best friend's fiancée. 

“You know why Chris left?” 

Derek shook his head. He'd assumed Chris thought it was just time to step down, it wasn’t an uncommon thing to do. 

“He and Victoria are separating, ” Stiles continued, so quiet Derek had to strain to hear it, “Because of what the fans used to say about him and me. Vic, you know what she's like. She's so fierce. But she got paranoid, and told him she was leaving. So he left the group to try fix it with her. It's not going well.”

“And Allison blames you,” Derek deduced. 

“Not all the time,” Stiles breathed, eyes still squeezed shut, “Just when it's really bad. She always apologizes, she never means what she says, but sometimes I just have to power through, Derek. Because I know.” 

Derek idly drummed his fingers against Stiles’ wrist, pushing his fingers up under the sleeve of Stiles’ hoody. 

“Know what?” 

Stiles opened his eyes, lips pressed in a tight line. 

“I know that the second that audience sees us on stage together? They won't even remember Chris' name. I know it sounds bad, but it's true. You're so – you and me, that's a-” Stiles cut himself off, wrinkling his nose and clutching at Derek's shirt. “We're so good together.” 

“We are.” 

“I never had this with Chris.” 

“I know.” 

“Just you. This is just ours.” 

“We're going to be fantastic.”

Stiles nodded fiercely, and Derek could already see that renewed fire in his eyes, the determination. Derek barely had to lean in at all in order to kiss him, and Stiles sighed into the kiss instantly, all the tension drained from his body.  

Derek would kiss him again and again throughout the day, throughout rehearsals. But this would be the only one that would matter.

•

The night of the first show, before they were due to go on stage, Stiles cornered him in the costume room. 

“Kiss me now,” Stiles said, “You won't be so nervous during the show. I won't be so nervous during the show.” 

“Okay,” Derek said, without preamble. He pulled Stiles in by the waist, one hand cupping his head, as Stiles melted into the embrace. It was as familiar as breathing by now, but all the same it never lost its meaning, importance, urgency. 

Stiles held on as they broke apart, fingers clutching the fur of Derek's cloak, getting glitter on him already. Derek didn't care.

“We can make this a ritual,” Stiles said, and Derek murmured in agreement, pressed a soft kiss below Stiles’ jaw and tried not to feel the way he shuddered with it. 

“A tradition.”

• 

“You banging Stilinski yet?” Boyd asked, and Allison – sat in his lap – choked on her beer. 

“What? No. Stiles is professional.”

“Right, ” Allison said bitterly, and then looked immediately remorseful. “I didn't mean that.”

Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried talking himself out of retaliation. Stiles didn't need Derek to defend him. He didn't. He didn't. 

Luckily, the door of the apartment clicked open then, and the young man in question stepped into the living area. Stiles looked as if he got caught in a snow flurry on the way home, cheeks pink and glistening with melting ice. He took one look at Allison and ducked his head, slinking away. Allison covered her mouth, looking horrified as he disappeared. 

“He hates me.” 

“He doesn't want to upset you, Ally,” Derek tried to assure her. “I promise.” 

“Maybe I should talk to him.” 

“Remember what happened the last time you tried to talk to him?” Boyd frowned at her, “Best just not get involved.” 

Allison, looking forlorn, placed her beer bottle on the coffee table and got up. “I think I'll go to bed,” she mumbled. 

As the bedroom door clicked shut, Boyd rubbed at his eyes and sighed. 

“It's a warzone in the apartment right now. It was weird enough living with the guy who made out with her dad every night, now she's living with the guy who possibly highlighted all the flaws in her parent's marriage.” 

“I don't think it's Stiles’ fault,” Derek said quietly. 

“It's not. When something starts to fall apart, you start grasping at straws to hold it together. Stiles was the final straw.” 

“Should I go check on him?” Derek wondered aloud, twisting around to try and get a look down the hallway Stiles had disappeared into. 

“Your call, man,” Boyd shrugged. “I'm going to bed. Trust you can let yourself out?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Derek said, standing and putting his bottle down next to where Allison had left hers. He clapped Boyd on the shoulder, before heading down the short little hall to where Stiles’ room was. 

Derek knocked quietly on the door and waiting for an answer, but nothing came. After a moment, he tried the handle, and the door clicked open. Inside Stiles’ room it was dark, but Derek could see the outline of him huddled on top of the bed in the farthest corner of the room. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“Stiles?” Derek whispered, and Stiles shifted minutely on the bed. Derek closed the door behind him and quietly padded across the floor. He knelt down next to the bed, putting one hand atop the covers. “You okay?” 

“Long day,” Stiles whispered back, “Didn't want to deal with anything.” 

Stiles’ hand crept out, his finger brushing over Derek's. Derek flinched. 

“Jesus Christ, you're freezing. God, I bet that coat is soaking wet, why didn't you take it off.” 

Stiles just shrugged, and Derek twisted to find the bedside light, flicking on the switch before pulling himself up onto the bed, “C’mon, you’ll get sick. Need you on form for tomorrow night.” 

“Yeah, you're right,” Stiles frowned. “I would never purposely make you kiss Liam.” 

“Kid's not even out of college. Feels wrong,” Derek mumbled, and Stiles laughed aloud, letting Derek unzip his coat and push it down off his shoulders. Underneath he was wearing just a thin t-shirt, traces of glitter from weeks and weeks of shows obvious on his skin. 

“No wonder you're freezing.” 

“I'm fine.” 

“You're shivering.”

“Stay with me,” Stiles chattered out, reaching for Derek with cold, shaking hands. “Keep me warm.”  

Derek, took Stiles’ hands in his, and rubbed them between his palms. He jerked his head, yes, and reeled Stiles in, gently kissing his forehead and then resting his temple against Stiles’, smiling.

Stiles only ever made demands he knew Derek couldn't refuse.

• 

Derek was often good at lying to himself, but even he knew there was no way that waking up with your colleague's face pressed against your stomach could be considered professional. But still, he couldn ’ t bring himself to push Stiles away. Stiles was stuck to him, as if Derek was the hull of a ship, and Stiles himself was a very sticky barnacle. His arms were wrapped around Derek's waist, their legs tangled together. Stiles’ lips were resting just about Derek’s navel, significantly closer to Derek’s morning wood than he felt comfortable with. 

It didn't seem to faze Stiles at all when his eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Derek, all sleep-flushed and red-mouthed. 

“Hey,” Stiles yawned, smacking his lips, absently stroking his hand over Derek's stomach. “You stayed.” 

“Said I would,” Derek replied, realising too late that the fingers of his right hand were tangled in Stiles’ hair. Stiles just pushed back against the touch, sighing happily. 

“Another day, another show.” 

“I have a feeling it'll be a good one.” 

“Me too,” Stiles hummed. After a few more minute of cuddling he forcibly pushed himself away, making the most disappointed sound as he did so; Derek would probably never get it out of his head. “ I'm gonna go see what we have for breakfast, and you can take command of the bathroom and take care of that bad boy.” 

With and unsubtle nod at Derek's crotch, and a wicked, wicked grin, Stiles climbed out of the bed and wandered off into the kitchen.

Derek was pretty sure he was going to die of embarrassment sooner or later. Maybe Stiles would have mercy on him tonight and push him off stage tonight, to speed up the process. 

• 

“His dad is out there tonight,” Scott said, dabbing paint on Derek's chest. 

“Hmm?” 

“Stiles’ dad, and his step-mom.” 

“Isn't his step-mom your mother-in-law? ” Derek asked, eyes narrowing. Scott bit his lip as he smiled, seemingly very focused on the application of the make-up. Derek snorted. “Is that why you're being extra attentive tonight? Impressing the in-laws?”   

“They love him,” Lydia rolled her eyes at them from where she was fixing Isaac's Bottom mask a few feet away from Derek and Scott. “Scott's sweetie-status is untouchable to them.” 

“What's the story there again?” Isaac asked, slightly muffled. “How you all ended up here, I mean?” 

“Stiles introduced me to Lydia when their parents started dating,” Scott explained. “They got married, we got together, Stiles ran off to become an actor. After college, Lydia got this job when Allison mentioned that the old makeup artists were leaving.” 

Stiles appeared in the door of the room then, in costume but without his headpiece of feathers or most of his makeup, and Lydia motioned for him to take a seat. 

“Yo. What are we talking about?” Stiles asked, slipping into one of the makeup chairs.

“Just how we all ended up enslaving ourselves to Bobby Finstock and Shakespeare,” Scott said, deadpan.  

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles laughed, “Dad marrying into the Martin family turned out to be extremely good for my career. Lydia was already working here as a makeup artist, she hooked me up when Brett broke his leg.” 

“I remember that,” Derek nodded, “I saw your audition. It was great.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up, and his head whipped around to face Derek. Lydia made an aggravated noise, and pulled him back around to face her, so Derek settled for meeting Stiles’ eyes in the mirror.

“Really?” Stiles asked, grinning as Lydia began to pin his headpiece on. 

“Yeah. I vouched for you. Finstock said you were too broad, too bulky, even though Brett was bigger than you – I don't know. He couldn ’ t say your name and it bothered him.”

“You vouched for me?”

“Yeah,” Derek shrugged a shoulder, smiling, and Stiles gave him a lopsided grin. Isaac made a retching noise behind his mask as he got up to leave. 

(“Asshat,” Stiles muttered. 

“Oh a donkey joke, how original,” Isaac bit back, as he exited.)

“Hey, that means you were here before Stiles?” Scott asked, “What's your story, Derek?” 

“I've been here since Romeo and Juliet,” Derek said, “I was Mercutio.” 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said suddenly, almost flailing out of his seat, and Lydia smacked his arm, shoving him back into place. “Oh my god, yes. I remember. Scotty, remember we saw that in Senior year?” 

“Vaguely,” Scott hummed, “I remember you being obsessed with Juliet for weeks afterwards. And Romeo.” 

“Paige and Jordan,” Derek said, automatically, and Stiles groaned as if he was dying. Possibly from embarrassment if the colour of his face was anything to go by. Maybe Derek would have to push him off the stage. Maybe it would be a mutual thing. 

“This group always casts such good looking people, how the hell did I get in?” Stiles grumbled. Lydia, over the top of Stiles’ head, gave Derek a pointed look. 

“You're beautiful, Stiles,” Derek said. “But you're a great actor too. Your looks are just a bonus.” 

“Stop making him blush, Derek, I can't afford to go through that much concealer,” Lydia muttered, scowling, but the minute Stiles’ back was turned she grinned, giving Derek a thumbs up and fist-bumping Scott behind her back. 

• 

During the performance that night, Stiles didn't push Derek away quite as hastily as he was maybe supposed to, sinking into the kiss, curling his leg up around Derek's ribs. His eyes were bright when they finally parted. 

As everyone gathered backstage post-performance, Derek spotted Stiles across the room, talking with an older, sandy-haired man, and a red-haired woman. Stiles whipped around, his eyes searching the crowd of performers and family/friends, until setting his eyes on Derek, and grinning.  As Stiles beckoned Derek over, he found he was powerless to do anything but let Stiles draw him closer, pull him in. 

“Derek, this is my dad, Sheriff John Stilinski, and his wife, the wonderful Natalie Martin-Stilinski,” Stiles said, all but presenting Derek to his family. 

Derek, blushing and feeling ridiculous, shook their hands and tried not to think about the fact that he was the guy who manhandled the Sheriff's son around the stage every night. 

“It's lovely to see some fresh faces in the cast,” the Sheriff said, clapping Derek on the back. 

“And talented faces at that,” Natalie added. 

“I've been in the group for a while actually, but I was just Chris' understudy since we started MSND. It's nice to actually get to work with Stiles instead of just … admiring from afar,” Derek said, getting a hand on Stiles’ back, rubbing his knuckles along Stiles’ spine. 

“You make quite the pair,” Natalie said, raising an eyebrow, and before Derek even had the chance to blush, John asked, “Do you have plans or would you like to join us for dinner?” 

“Uh, I have a dinner with my family actually. My sisters flew in from New York to see this show. But thanks so much for the invite. Another time maybe?” 

“Yeah, totally,” Stiles agreed, “I should – I should probably get out of my costume now actually.” 

“Yeah, same here,” Derek said, making to break away from Stiles’ family, “I still have to find my sisters and everyone. It's been a pleasure meeting you guys.” 

John and Natalie said their goodbyes, shook Derek's hands again, and then Stiles was dragging Derek away by the fur of his cape. 

“Get these things off my head, sister dearest,” Stiles announced, throwing himself into one of the makeup chairs. “I'm starving.” 

“Don't call me that, it's icky,” Lydia frowned, starting to detach Stiles’ headpiece from his wild hair, “Where are we eating?”

“Oh, you know that place your mom likes on the boulevard – oh and she looks lovely tonight, did you see her?” 

“Yes, of course she looks lovely. I bought her that dress for her birthday.” 

“Of course.” 

“How did I not realise you two were related before this?” Derek deadpanned, starting to unlace his shoes. 

“You haven’t seen our family attended the show before this,” Lydia shrugged. “By the way, I met your sisters outside. Your older sister, Laura? She’s a firecracker. I like her.” 

“Oh god,” Derek groaned, and Lydia just grinned impishly back at him. 

• 

By the time Derek had cleaned up, quickly getting ready to leave for the night, his phone had already been blowing up with calls from Cora, Laura, and even Malia, for the past twenty minutes – if only he could find his sweater. 

“Stiles, you can't wear that to dinner.” 

“It's fucking fine, Lydia, I'm starving can we please go?” 

And there was Stiles, pulling on a boot as he hopped on one leg down the hallway – wearing Derek's grey sweater. The damn thing was loose and comfortable even on Derek's bulky frame, Stiles practically swam in it. And for some reason, that fact made it look all the better on him. Something about it drove Derek crazy. 

“Derek! There you are,” Laura's voice called from the other end of the hallway, and Derek turned to find her standing there, surveying him with Cora at her side. Laura's gaze slipped past Derek to Stiles, who was following Lydia back to the gathering on stage, “Is that – do my eyes deceive me or is that Puck kid wearing your dumb ratty sweater?” 

“That's Stiles, and does it matter? Aren’t we getting dinner? C’mon, let's go.” 

“That's your sweater!” 

“Laura.” 

“Does our little Derkin have a crushy-wushy? Do you have a boyfie?” 

“I hate you.” 

“I really want a gherkin now,” Cora mumbled, as Derek tried to steer Laura towards the exit. “Nice show tonight, Derek.” 

“I'm glad you came,” Derek said, grinning at her, “Laura? Not so much.” 

Laura frowned, twisting back toward them. “I resent that.” 

•

Stiles showed up to weekend rehearsals in the sweater, blushing a little when Derek raised an eyebrow at him.  

“Do you want it back?” Stiles sat on the edge of the stage, hands gripping the ledge of it between his knees, swinging his legs. There was something so edible about how he looked there and then; a sweet, unmade mess. Derek grinned.

“Nah. Looks better on you, somehow.” 

•

In the last few hectic moments before curtain, Derek always found himself alone with Stiles in the dressing room, he always found time for their tradition. This occasion was no different. 

Except it was. 

Stiles broke their kiss, looking at Derek with slight confusion. 

“I can feel that you're still nervous. I thought we were past that?” 

“I'm just-” 

“Building up a tolerance to my mind melting kissin’?” Stiles interrupted with a grin (never, Derek thought), “Time to up my game.”

With very little elegance at all, Stiles fell to his knees in the dressing room, unceremoniously tugging at Derek's costume breeches.

“What are you-” 

“If you have a problem with me sucking you off right now, you gotta let me know because you have about seven seconds before I get started.”  

Derek's brain shorted out somewhere between ' sucking you ’ and ‘ off ’ when Stiles took him out, got a hand around his cock. Derek could, at this point, admit to himself that he tended to live in a state of semi-arousal around Stiles (good thing his costume had a generous codpiece) so it didn't take long to get him hard at all. Not when his heart was pounding. Not when Stiles was licking his lips, murmuring something about Derek's ‘beautiful dick’ . God. 

“Okay?” Stiles asked, and Derek – lost for words – made an affirmative noise and just nodded. Then Stiles was taking Derek in, slowly sinking his mouth over Derek's cock, all ease and wet heat. Derek briefly thought the only thing remotely professional about this was the way Stiles swallowed him down so effortlessly, plush pink lips kissing the dark tangle of hair at the base, Derek's pelvic bone.

Stiles was ruthless, hollowed cheeks as he sucked, eyes wide and dark as he looked up at Derek, fluttering closed when he took Derek deep (lashes a black smudge against his cheeks). He was pulling every trick in the book, and Derek was ridiculously lost in it - the soft sound of Stiles’ throat clicking when he swallowed back his gag reflex, the low gasp when he pulled off, the slick noise of his hand curled around the shaft. Derek was going to finish embarrassingly quickly, he realised, even more so when he cupped the back of Stiles’ head and Stiles moaned quietly, getting eager, sloppier.

“Christ, Stiles,” Derek breathed, feeling like his legs were about the slide out from underneath him; Stiles’ hands were on Derek’s thighs, gripping tight, and sliding up to his hips and encouraging him to move. Derek gave an experimental thrust, groaning aloud when Stiles just opened up for him and let Derek shallowly fuck his mouth. 

“Close, going to come,” Derek murmured, and Stiles pushed him back, lips resting against the head of his dick, getting a hand around the length of it. 

“In my mouth,” he said, “I mean, if you want.” 

"Oh my god,” Derek whispered, and dropped his head back, coming with a low groan. Derek felt like he was slowly melting, all the tension leaving his body as he slumped against the door. Stiles, ever so politely, did Derek's pants back up for him and got to his feet grinning. 

“Better?” He sounded fucked. 

“Shit, your voice, Stiles-” 

“I'll grab some water before we go on, be fine. How are you?” 

“I'm great,” Derek breathed, “I'm great. Are you? Can I-?” 

“Later, man, we got a thing,” Stiles chuckled, running his hands along Derek's forearms. “Kiss me quick. Now.”

Derek dove in, kissed hard and deep, finding his taste in Stiles’ mouth and groaning as his dick – very valiantly – tried to get hard again. As quickly as they'd begun, Stiles was pulling away, patting Derek's chest reassuringly. 

“What's got you so nervous anyway?” He asked, opening the door of the dressing room. A few people skittered around doing last minute adjustments, as they always did before the show began, and Derek and Stiles went mostly unnoticed as they moved out into the hall. 

“Uh, Chris is here tonight,” Derek said, wincing at the way Stiles tensed, and stiffly turned on the spot. 

“Oh,” he said, “Oops.” 

“Oops?” Derek asked, as Stiles gnawed at his lower lip. 

“Oops, as in, oops it'd probably be better for me if I didn't look like I just blew you in the dressing room before we went on stage.” 

“You did blow me in the dressing room before-” 

“Not helping, Derek.”

“Stiles-” 

“Maybe I should let Liam take the part tonight, maybe-” 

“What? No, c'mon Stiles. This is why I wasn’t going to tell you. You have no reason to freak out over this. Chris played a much loved role when he was here, and now I'm reprising that role, and he's here to see it. I should be the one freaking out.” 

“You were freaking out. Now you're all fucked out and relaxed and it's annoying.” 

“Thanks for that, by the way. You're really good.” 

Stiles looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh, and then suddenly he exhaled a nervous giggle, and rubbed his hands over his cheeks, careful not to touch the makeup around his eyes.

“I'm such a bad person.” 

“You're really not, Stiles.” 

“What if Victoria's with him? She scares me, dude. She thought I was fucking her husband, and she still brought me flowers after my last show with him.” 

“Vic scares everyone, Stiles,” Derek said, honestly, and Stiles frowned deeply, swaying on the spot. Derek sighed and pulled Stiles in by the wrist. “None of what's happening with them is your fault. In fact, I'd say your only fault, is that you're just too good an actor. You made them all believe it.” 

Stiles, exhaling a shuddering sigh, nodded his head and squared his shoulders. Derek could see the new determination in Stiles’ eyes, and felt it swell in his own chest too. 

“Okay. Okay, you're right. Let's do this. Let's blow them away. Aaaand, I can see the blowjob pun forming on the tip of your tongue, save it for later.” 

Stiles grabbed his hand then, and began to lead grinning Derek through the backstage area, to where they were supposed to wait. As soon as they made their appearance, Stiles was dragged off by Lydia to get his makeup touched up, and Derek could help but grin as Lydia frowned the moment Stiles began to speak, and shoved a bottle of water at him, throwing her hands up in frustration. 

• 

“Stiles is good at casual, usually,” Allison told Derek, her arm slung over his shoulder. They ’ re both watching Victoria Argent conversing with an increasingly awkward-looking Stiles, who had literally backed himself into a corner. “But my mother seems to bring out the baby deer in him.”  

“He does currently bear resemblance to Bambi, doesn't he?" Derek murmured. 

“He looks like he's staring down the barrel of a shotgun.” 

“He said he's terrified of her,” Derek said, without thinking. Allison turned to stare at him, her mouth slightly parted. “I mean, who isn't?” Derek continued, “Stiles just … I get the impression he's tiptoeing around her.” 

Allison swallowed thickly, her gaze falling away towards the floor. 

“He's tiptoeing around us all. We used to be pretty close, now it's just a mess.” 

“Allison, I said it to Stiles earlier and I'm saying it to you now; None of what's happening with them is your fault.” 

“You don't even know, I was so terrible to Stiles,” Allison groaned, turning her back to Victoria and Stiles altogether, “Now I don't know how to fix it.” 

Derek huffed out a laugh. To him, the answer was so obvious, he wondered how they couldn't see it themselves. “You could start but going over there and talking to him. Save the baby deer from the she wolf.” 

Allison cast a glance over her shoulder to her mother and Stiles. Biting her lip, she nodded in agreement. It seemed to take her a minute to build up the courage. 

“You were great tonight, Derek,” Allison said, softly, as she turned to leave him. “Not just on stage.” 

• 

Derek got home late after drinks with some of the cast, threw himself into the shower, and then into his bed. The group of them in a booth at the bar had been a rare but pleasant experience. No one had drank anything alcoholic, much to the bartender's confusion. Stiles had tasted like cola when he loudly and dramatically (and chastely) kissed Derek goodnight in front of everyone, before pushing him towards the taxi waiting on the curb. 

The problem with Stiles being such a fine actor, was that Derek found him hard to read. In the last twenty-four hours he'd gone from hardly seeing Stiles all morning, to their tryst in the dressing room, to the cheerful display of affection in front of all their friends at the bar - so many conflicting signals, it made Derek's head spin. Stiles had made a loud smacking noise when he'd planted one on Derek outside the bar, a theatrical ‘MWAH’ and then a shriek, as Derek playfully pinched his ass cheek, and Stiles had pushed him away with wild eyes and a trademark wicked grin. There had been something about that look, the unguarded joy in Stiles’ face, that made Derek dare to hope there could be more between them.

Stiles, Derek realised, was good at masking his emotions in front of others. He'd coolly regained his confidence as Allison left Derek and joined his conversation with Victoria after the show. He'd taunted Isaac constantly, and mercilessly and easily brushed off all retaliation as they waited for a taxi when leaving the theatre. At the bar that night, he'd bought Chris a virgin Sex on the Beach, and laughed about it for three minutes straight. 

Derek, suddenly wide awake, then tried to remember who else had been around on those dreary mornings when Stiles lifelessly slumped into the theatre – like he'd had to peel himself out of the shower drain first – but no-one came to mind. The memories were crisp: Him and Stiles in the dressing room, him and Stiles in the hall, him and Stiles up in the catwalks. Always together, always alone. 

Stiles wore a mask, for everyone but Derek. 

Curled up beneath his duvet, Derek fished his phone out from beneath the pillow, brought up his message app.

  

 

> ** >Hope you got home safe. I had a good time tonight. **

 

A safe, casual message – but a test all the same.

 

 

>   **j** **ust home, about to slip into a coma hah. me too. better with you there of course < **

 

 

Derek smiled, about to reply when another message came through

 

 

> **don't laugh but i wasn’t sure who this was at first bc i have your contact down as ‘ king O-beard-on of the fairies ’ < **

 

(Derek laughed.)

 

 

> ** >I'm sorry, but how many Fairy Kings do you know? **

 

 

> ** just one worth remembering<  
>  **
> 
> ** goodnight derek< **
> 
> ** x< **

 

 

> ** >Sleep tight x **

  

The urge to squeak like a teenage girl over the fact that Stiles thought he was worth remembering was a hard one to tamp down. Derek forcefully buried his face in his pillow, and fell asleep grinning. 

• 

Derek didn't get to return Stiles’ favour in the dressing room nearly as soon as he would have liked. In the run up to the last week of the show, things got hectic and emotional. They barely even had time for their pre-show tradition, they had so little time alone together. It didn't stop Derek from thinking about it though – and he thought about it a lot. Thought about pressing Stiles up against the door and sinking down to his knees for him, thought about pushing him down on the couch in the dressing room and climbing up over him. In Derek's bed at the end of a long, tiring night, unwinding together. Anything for Derek to get his mouth on Stiles’ anywhere.  

He thought about it whenever they kissed – and that, the kissing … it couldn ’ t possibly be a platonic thing. 

“We're so good together. I never had this with Chris. Just you. This is just ours.” 

It was a moment Derek couldn’t help but keep revisiting, just to remember the inflection of Stiles’ voice, the meaning in it. This is just ours. 

Yes it was theirs. Derek just wanted everyone else to know about it too. 

• 

The night before their final performance, Derek stayed late at the theatre. He roamed the stage, socked feet against the hardwood, sleeves of his sweater pulled down over his hands. He wondered if taking a season break from the group was the right decision; soon they would start casting for Macbeth, and Derek had worked for the past three seasons straight in the Merchant of Venice, Romeo & Juliet, and now in MSND.

Maybe it was time for a break.

Derek's thoughts were interrupted when he heard the stage creak behind him, and he turned to find a barefooted Stiles making his way across the platform. 

“Lose your shoes too?” Derek asked. 

“Lydia says you want to take a break.” 

Stiles had never been one to hedge around things. 

“I love the theatre, obviously,” Derek shrugged, “I think I just need some time off.” 

Stiles, jaw set, nodded hesitantly and reached out to curl his fingers around Derek's. A simple, but weighted, gesture. 

“I know I'm relatively new here and we haven’t actually known each other for all that long but … I'm not sure this place would be the same without you,” Stiles said, his voice stiff. 

Derek smiled, trying to soften Stiles’ hard edges as he reached out to complete the circuit. He curled his fingers around Stiles’ wrist, slowly slid his fingers down to his hand, and drew him in closer. 

Stiles looked up, his posture more forgiving and pliant as he sunk into the touch, into Derek's chest. This was easier than he'd expected. It felt like everything falling into place. 

“You want to practise?” Stiles asked. It was their last night. There was really no need for practise. 

“No,” Derek said, “Just want to kiss you.” 

Stiles’ head bowed a little, but he was smiling so Derek took it as a good sign. Stiles huffed out a little chuckle, butted his nose against Derek's cheek, playful. 

“Come hither. I'm here.” 

This kiss was different. No haste, no urgency, no kiss me quick before we go, no dramatic smacking, flailing, no dipping and lifting or any of the theatrics. Just Stiles’ hand curling into his hair and pulling him close, the warmth of his mouth open against Derek's, the happiest little noise Derek had ever heard escaping Stiles’ chest as he clutched and was clutched back. 

“Please,” Stiles breathed into him, and Derek didn't need to ask what. He just needed to ask where. 

“Come home with me?” 

Stiles nodded, practically beaming. He slid his hand down Derek's chest, over his heart.  

“I'm already there.” 

• 

The drive home was torture in  the best way. Every so often Stiles would lean back in his seat and look over at Derek, just to grin at him. Derek drove a manual, which wasn ’ t exactly helpful when it came to handholding, but goddamn it, Stiles tried to make it work. And when he couldn ’ t hold Derek's hand, he held Derek's thigh, or his knee, or brushed his fingers through the back of Derek's hair. There were a few instances where Derek was surprised he didn't veer the car right off the road.  

Eventually they made it to the door of Derek's little house. Derek's chest felt tight - he kept waiting to wake from the dream, to snap out of the moment. But he was there, and he couldn’t believe it, and neither could Stiles apparently, by the way he kept dragging Derek away to leisurely kiss him every few seconds. Derek tried to get his key into the lock, but didn't quite managed it the first six times, melting too easily into Stiles’ touch.

“You gotta let me open the door,” Derek grumbled, pulling away, and Stiles bounced on his toes, trying to hide his grin in the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, leaning in to peck Derek on the cheek, “I just — This is really what you want?” Stiles asked, nerves shining through him in a way Derek had never seen before. Sure, he'd seen Stiles buzzing before a show, but he usually used it to his advantage, played off of it. Here, Stiles looked terrified. Like he didn't know where to start. 

“Since the moment I saw you. Yeah,” Derek admitted, ducking his head as he pushed the front door open, “You?” 

Stiles looked bashful, momentarily. “Since that first kiss. I never expected to be kissed like I was something special.” 

“You're more than special,” Derek said softly, and lifted his hand to Stiles’ face. He gently touched Stiles’ lower lip, pulling it down a little, feeling the plushness under the pad of this thumb. “You are worship worthy.” 

Stiles grinned, shoved Derek through the door. 

“Get on with it then,” he laughed. 

“I'll give you the tour later,” Derek said, smiling, leading Stiles straight towards the bedroom. 

“In the morning,” Stiles nodded. 

“After breakfast,” Derek added.

“Breakfast. God, yeah, keep talking,” Stiles moaned dramatically, draping his arms over Derek's shoulders and reeling him in for another kiss as they giggled. Derek took the opportunity to hook his arms under Stiles’ thighs and lift him up, shocking a real moan out of him this time. “Fuck yeah.” 

“Should have known you’d be noisy, ” Derek mumbled, as Stiles outright laughed, “We're not even naked yet.” 

“Why aren’t we?” was the last thing Stiles managed to croak out, before Derek got his mouth on his neck, and Stiles seemed to lose the ability of speech altogether, grasping at Derek's shoulders, whining, pushing his hips up into Derek's.  

Derek helped Stiles get out of his sweater, tossing it across the room, his lips chasing the newly exposed skin of Stiles’ shoulders, collarbones, chest. It was nothing he hadn’t seen every night on stage but, here in the dim light of his bedroom, it felt brand new to Derek. Stiles' fingers curled into his hair, clenching, clutching when Derek swiped his tongue over a nipple. Stiles gasped out between panted breaths, hips searching for friction as Derek indulged. 

Stiles finally pushed him away with an irritated noise that Derek took to mean take off your clothes as he furiously tugged at Derek's jeans. Derek didn't waste time, pushing them down past his knees, kicking them off his feet as Stiles worked at his own belt.

“Let me,” Derek murmured, swatting Stiles’ hands away, calmly undoing the buckle, the fly of Stiles’ jeans, helping Stiles lift his hips to slip them off. Derek already desperately wanted his mouth on Stiles, he wanted to return the favour Stiles gave him long ago. But as much as he wanted Stiles’ cock in his mouth, there was something else he wanted too. “Lie back.” 

Stiles breathed out shakily as he lay down on the mattress, and Derek leisurely tugged down his briefs, revealing his full, pink cock. 

“You're just … gorgeous all over, aren’t you?” Derek asked, absently, taking in the sight. 

“It's costing everything I have not to say ‘I know you are, but what am I?’” Stiles replied, a little tremor in his voice. Derek reached down and gave Stiles’ cock a quick stroke, before catching him around the knees and pushing his legs back, wide open. “Oh,” Stiles breathed out. 

“I wanna eat you out. If- if you're okay with that.” 

“Oh I'm definitely okay. I'm, yeah, infinitely okay with that,” Stiles babbled, words running in together as he tipped his head back, eyes rolling shut. “God, please.” finitely  

Derek brushed his knuckles along the underside of Stiles’ chin, down his throat, and felt Stiles shuddering under him. Slowly, he drew his hand along the length of Stiles’ body, fingertips brushing again Stiles’ inner thigh. Stiles groaned, legs falling open just a little wider for Derek, who slowly lowered his head for a taste. 

Stiles’ reaction to Derek's mouth on him was instant, crying out, back arching and hips pushing against the heat of Derek's mouth. 

“God, Derek, do you even know - kissing you every night - I even sucked your dick, oh god. How did it take us this long to get here?” 

Derek licked up along Stiles’ taint, his balls, snuffling into the crease of his thigh. 

“We’re idiots,” he said, and Stiles laughed as he tangled a hand into Derek's hair, tried to guide him back to rimming him. Derek went down easily, sucking, licking until he could press the tip of his tongue inside. Stiles writhed above him, rumpling the bedsheets as he fisted them, mouth open and eyes closed and rolling his hips against Derek's mouth. 

Derek dug his fingers into Stiles’ thigh, holding him still as he fucked his tongue into him, deeper now as Stiles’ body began to relax and open for him. The pale skin of Stiles’ ass was tinged pink, irritated by Derek's beard, the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. As he pulled away, he gently ran his thumbs over it, and Stiles sucked in a shocked breath. 

“You're good at doing that,” he said, dazedly, lowering his legs a little as Derek crawled up between them. 

“You're good at getting it,” Derek replied, and Stiles laughed, reaching out for him. His hands cupped Derek's face softly, and he chuckled under his breath. 

“Please tell me you're gonna fuck me,” Stiles groaned, letting his head fall back against the mattress, “I've been thinking about it for months now, Derek, please.” 

Derek nodded, reaching down beside the bed to where he conveniently kept his lube, relishing in the way Stiles grinned as he heard the cap pop. 

“Well that tells me everything.” 

Derek huffed out a laugh, concentrating on slicking up his hand as Stiles watched eagerly, reaching down to stroke himself every so often. Finally, he was scooting closer to Stiles, lifting his legs over Derek's thighs and spreading him open. Derek probed tentatively with a slick finger, actually groaning under his breath as he watched it sinking into Stiles, disappearing inside him. 

Stiles reacted similarly, moaning weakly and shifting his hips. He was so nicely relaxed from the rimming and the touching and the giggling, that Derek didn't wait around, easily slipped a second finger in, scissoring to stretch Stiles out more for him. 

The tight heat around his fingers was indescribable, and Derek couldn’t remember the last time getting laid felt like this, the last time just fingering a guy had him almost ready to blow. One look at Stiles, and Derek knew it was all because of him him. Gorgeous, flushed, talented, sexy, enigmatic Stiles. Derek wanted to unwrap him and learn all his secrets - just as soon as he had Stiles trembling and coming apart in his arms. 

Stiles keened as the third finger breached him. Derek wanted to be sure, fingering him slowly and thoroughly until Stiles wasn ’ t even making noise anymore, just hanging to the sheets for dear life. 

“Derek, Derek please, c’mon. I want - fuck, I want to come on your cock,” Stiles whined as he finally found his voice again, hips twitching weakly when Derek's fingers grazed his prostate, “I'm ready, Jesus.” 

It took less than twenty seconds for Derek to free his fingers, grab a condom and roll it down over his cock as Stiles watched eagerly, biting at his lower lip. 

“Like this?” Derek asked, gesturing at the way Stiles was spread out on his back below him. 

“Yeah, I wanna see you,” Stiles replied, running his hand down Derek's arm, and Derek laced their fingers together, pinning Stiles' hand back next to his face. Stiles’ mouth broke out into a wide, wicked grin. “You wanna hold me down? I can get on board with that.”

“I want to hold your hand and simultaneously not fall on my face,” Derek said, grinning, and Stiles choked out a laugh - which quickly melted into a groan as Derek slowly started to press into him, the thick head of his cock slipping past the rim. Stiles’ mouth fell open, and he arched into the sensation, fingers flexing in Derek's grip. 

“Oh god,” he breathed out, legs falling open, slack around Derek's waist. “This is happening.” 

“It's happening,” Derek murmured, pressing quick, light kisses to Stiles’ neck.  Stiles shifted beneath him, rolling his body with a stifled noise, like he was trying to get Derek to move. Derek jerked his hips, the first tentative thrust of many that made Stiles gasp and grin, head thrown back and neck exposed. Already he was flushed, throat and chest a delicate pink that Derek wanted to rub his cheeks against, darken, mark. 

“Please,” Stiles panted, and yanked his hand free from Derek's, and Derek grabbed onto the headboard for leverage as Stiles held onto his waist, fingers biting into Derek's skin. “Derek, c’mon.” 

Derek ducked his head, sealing his mouth over Stiles’ as he began to thrust in earnest. He'd always thought this to be a more intimate position, tried to avoid it when it came to one night stands; with Stiles, it felt right. Perfect, even. He got to see every change of expression in Stiles’ face, the way he looked when Derek got the angle just right, fucked him the way he liked it. He got to hear Stiles panting out his name into his ear, the break in his voice on the second syllable, the short, cut off moans in between. All of it, almost overwhelming him. 

Derek's hand still in is, Stiles groaned as rewrapped Derek's fingers around his cock between them, little punched out moans leaving his chest as Derek gently squeezed and began to jerk him off. Though the lack of space between them restricted movement, Stiles seemed to have no problem with it, shoulders shaking, mouth hanging open as he came. 

“Oh, fuck, god, Derek,” he moaned, head falling back again, and Derek bowed down to kiss his throat and nip at his jaw. Stiles’ nails raking down his chest, pinching gentle at his nipples, tipped him over the edge and he came with a low rumble of Stiles, body sinking, heavy, satisfied.

Stiles seemed happy to lay there and take Derek's weight, pulling him in by wrapping his arms and legs around him, holding him tight. 

“We're gonna have to move sometime,” Derek mumbled, his mouth smushed against Stiles’ shoulder. 

Stiles snorted, “Right. Lemme know when you're up for that, big guy.”

• 

The next morning found Stiles lounging on Derek's sofa, and Derek making breakfast as promised, just a few feet away from him in Derek's little kitchen. 

“It's our last show tonight,” Stiles said, quietly. “After this, is a three month break. Casting for the new show. Starting all over. Crazy, huh?” 

“I feel like we didn't have enough time working together,” Derek said, softly. Stiles shot up into a sitting position, wild eyed as he stared at Derek over the back of the couch.

“Won't you return for the next season?” 

“Well, I mean … The Scottish Play.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You can say Macb-” 

Derek pointed a spatula at him. “Don't say it.” 

Stiles was repressing a smile with difficulty, biting his lip. Suddenly his eyes looked less wild, yet more feral. 

“So that's it? You're just … leaving? Like Chris?” 

“I'm … I just don't know if there's a role for me next season.”

“Derek,” Stiles’ face fell, “You know how talented you are, right? You know you would do any role justice? Hell, I'd love to see you as Macbeth.” 

“I can't believe you said it.” 

“I can't believe you're superstitious. I probably wouldn't have slept with you if I'd known.” 

“Stiles.” 

“Okay, that was a lie.” 

Derek huffed out a laugh, prodding at the french toast in the pan, head ducked down. 

“It's a dilemma,” he said. “I love the theatre. I love working with everyone. I love working with you.” 

“I don't see the dilemma there,” Stiles shrugged. 

Derek bit his lip. Now was as good a time as ever to start being honest. No better way to begin a relationship. 

“I'm scared this break won't bode well for … for us. That returning in three months time would be … painful.” 

Stiles’ brow furrowed, his mouth setting into a frown as he slowly got off the couch and made his way towards Derek. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that this- ” he waved the spatula between them, “-you and me, it happened because of the time we spent together. Those kisses. The other stuff. It happened because we work together. And after tonight, we won't be working together for another three months. You're gonna go home to your dad, I'm going to go home to my family. We're not going to see one another.” 

“Derek,” Stiles said, a weak tremor slipping into his voice, “We'll make this work. We'll come back in three months and do Macb-” 

“Stiles!” 

“Jeez, we'll do The Scottish Play! We can do it. I spent far too long pining for you before you even new I existed to let this fall through.” 

Derek felt his mouth twisting into a smirk. 

“Pining?” 

“Shut up.” 

“It's okay. I pined too.” 

Stiles bit his lip on a grin, gently took the spatula from Derek and prodded at the pan of toast. 

“We're gonna do this. We're going to go on dates, and have really great sex, and probably, I don't know, spend a very long time being happy doing theatre and being dorks about Shakespeare. Together.” 

Derek had to admit, it sounded pretty great. 

“And if we should fail?” 

Stiles’ mouth twisted into a wide, crooked smirk, as he turned on the spot and threw his arms around Derek's neck, looking incredulous.

“We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking place, and we'll not fail.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the portrayal of MSND in this was based on [this wonderful performance.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7EeES8u6QE) It's really worth a watch, but if you haven't got time, even looking through the tag on tumblr is a trip.


End file.
